


two sides of the moon

by comprehendsubtext



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Platonic Cuddling, Religious Content, and i need to write them having a nice time for once, half of it is pretty light!! and then the rest happens, i needed to know more about ragh and tracker in fallinel so i wrote it, im writing these tags at a time in which i would usually be sleeping, nonbinary tracker, nothing graphic but there is a dead body, ragh and tracker are good friends, religious leaders twisting faith, there is blood and poison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28436976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comprehendsubtext/pseuds/comprehendsubtext
Summary: Tracker tilted their head back against the side of the ship, closing their eyes. “C’mon dude,” Ragh said, nodding his head toward his shoulder. It would certainly be more comfortable than the ship. “When you’re here, you’re family.”The noise that erupted from Tracker’s throat was somewhere between a chuckle, a groan, and a gag. “Ugh, shut up.”“But you had nothing against it when Kristen said it?”“Because Kristen is cute.”“Homie, I don’t know if you’ve realized, but I’m cute as hell. And I’m just saying that’s a little homophobic, that Kristen can say it but not me.”“All three people involved in this scenario are gay.”“That’s a fuckin’ convenient excuse.”what do you get when you take a cleric, a barbarian, and a history of lies orchestrated by a church that cleric used to find comfort in? a whole lot of guilt and fear but also maybe fun gay times!
Relationships: Ragh Barkrock & Tracker O'Shaughnessey
Kudos: 4
Collections: Dimension 20 Big Bang





	two sides of the moon

**Author's Note:**

> this is? my second time writing and publishing fic and it was a fun learning experience in that i don't know how to write fear and doubt as well as i know how to write love and closeness and yeah!!! big thanks to beacon @catboygilear for their incredible art and caroline @voxphantasma on twitter for betaing this even when i only sent her like half of what it is now uhhh fun times i wanted to give back to a community of creators that have done so many incredible things and made my 2020 bearable! love you all, hope you enjoy!

Tracker stared through the windshield of their car. This time last year they were riding a bicycle around Elmville. Now they were driving to Harroway Bay, and then they’d be off to Fallinel. “Ragh?”  
The half-orc looked up from his crystal, where he had been navigating and definitely not texting the boys and making Tracker loop around the block after missing a turn. “Yeah?”  
“I don’t think we can bring this stuff to Fallinel.”  
“You mean like, the car? Because I kinda figured unless we could take it onto the ferry, but Fallinel is a little far for the ferry.” The car. The car that can’t go in the water. Because it’s just a car. Fuck. “We can probably get someone from the house to pick it up.”  
Tracker would have time later to be happy about the fact that Ragh was getting comfortable in the Mordred Manor. Instead, they shook their head. “But then, it’s not just the car. That’s the biggest thing, but our clothes are just as obvious. I don’t think we packed up the right gear for this trip.”  
“Shit dude,” the half-orc sighed, “I kinda got hyped to go on another adventure and blacked out on the details.”  
“Yeah, I just knew I had to get out there.” Or did they need to get away? “I kind of just had my eyes set on undoing whatever the fuck happened and I didn’t have space in my brain to consider how to really get there after physically getting there. Because obviously, it was easier not to think about all the questions that came along with taking on a church, such as ‘how do you overthrow a church?’”  
Thankfully, Ragh could focus on more immediate issues. “Do we need to blend in totally? We were able to explain some of it to Telemaine, we could figure it out.”  
Tracker furrowed their brows. “I don’t think so,” they said, eyes focused on the horizon. “Not for this.”  
Tracker could feel Ragh’s concern without needing to look. It didn’t seem to stop when he returned focus to the GPS. “We’ll do what we gotta do.”

\---

They drove the car into long term parking by the pier while Ragh typed out a message to Jawbone on Tracker’s crystal. “Roughin’ it like Gal- G-A-L-I-C-A-E-A, right?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Like Galicaea intended-”  
They didn’t pack entirely incorrectly, per se. It’s not like the pair packed for a week of touring the sights of Bastion City or lounging at the beach, they packed for a month of hiking. But they imagined getting there in a sentient vehicle with all of their stuff that they could camp in when necessary. The hiking would be intense, they’d go wherever the car couldn’t reach, but they would at least have a sure place to go each night. They did not consider how weird high elven culture is when they were packing, and this was the root of their problem. Any piece that would get them strange looks had to be left behind, they were already a werewolf and a half-orc. Anything else could only make them appear more out of place. Things only they would see could be kept, like keepsakes only to be taken out when alone, but their tennis shoes and metal water bottles would have to be left behind.  
The text Ragh sent explained everything, and when Jawbone awoke he would see a message asking him to come down with someone to the pier and pick up the minivan, as this was as far as it would be able to take them. They would be on a ship to Fallinel by the time the house would be waking up.  
The door of the trunk was raised for the two to peer inside at their belongings, Ragh’s hands gripping the edge as he leaned in. He stared at the pile they still had to divide into taking with them or leaving in the car. “Leave our crystals?”  
Tracker hummed, considering. “It’s not like we’ll get service, we didn’t hook them up to the Thistlespring satellite. They’ll lose battery in a day or two.”  
From his pocket, Ragh pulled out a small stone with an engraved gem shape along its previously smooth surface. “Then it’s a good thing I brought this.” He rubbed a thumb over the engraving as Tracker raised a brow. “Aguefort gave it to me as an apology for not telling me what he did with my mom’s body. Now I don’t need a crystal to talk to her, I just squeeze this and yell.” Every additional piece of information Tracker learned about Arthur Aguefort just confused them more. He’s not incredibly present, but then he’s making incredibly useful magical items and strange magical creatures and ripping the sun from the sky. Wizards are wild.  
“That would’ve been- uh- would’ve been a good thing to bring. If I had one.”  
“Well, my mom’s in the same house as Jawbone and Kristen. She thinks you’re great, she could totally pass on a little message for you.”  
They perked up a little with that. “Would she be able to have them talk back?”  
But then Ragh was the one to slouch. “Oh,” he responded, softer, “no, sorry, it’s just a link between her and the stone.”  
Another sigh, gears turning. “Okay.”  
“You good?”  
And exhale, slow. “Yeah.”  
They sifted through the rest of the pile, Tracker pulling out a small pocket knife with a wooden handle and Ragh retrieving a worn blanket and tucking it into his bag.  
“Got the books you need?”  
“It’s not exactly the three volumes of Helio or whatever but yeah, I’ve got what I need.” Tracker squinted, checking off a mental list that was flying through, one item at a time, more a collection of sporadic sticky notes than a list. “Weird magic stone phone?”  
“Always,” he replied, patting his pockets, “Healing kit?”  
“Yeah, with extras of everything. And plenty of gold in case we need something else for it. Sword?” Ragh laughed at that one but nodded. “Let’s hope you don’t have to use it.”

\---

“I don’t know how much hirelings are supposed to be paid,” Tracker shrugged, leather between their feet and the pavement. The shoes were new to them but could’ve been centuries-old to the world. The more Solesian things they could replace before leaving, the less they would have to take with them. “And neither did Fig when she talked to her manager. She convinced uhh Lola, I think, to just give me some of the money they earned from merch sales. And she just kind of guessed the price. So one of us got ripped off.” They were approaching the pier, salt filled the air. “I know I dropped out of school, but it's still kind of strange that students are just hiring people. And then there’s the added layer of considering whether or not my girlfriend accidentally scammed me.”  
“Students are supposed to split whatever reward they get at the end but the Nightmare King was just, yknow, a person. No hoard. I got to graduate, though, so I wasn’t too pressed about the gold.”  
“And I got to hang out with my girlfriend and her friends while we all went through a series of traumatic events.”  
The full moon hung in their heart, Kristen’s voice rang in their ears, the branches growing, extending- no. The forest was miles away, Cassandra is kind, it was all illusions. Ragh held it close too, he didn’t have to say it.  
“Oh, same, homie,” he smiled like it was just a collection of stupid decisions, messy parties, and drunken nights. Not a time followed by nights where you wake up screaming, inability to hold your loved ones close for fear they might be next or that they may stab you in the back, rethinking all of your choices, and crying out of nowhere. “Except for the girlfriend part.” Tracker knew he was just shrugging it off, neither of them would truly be over what happened, but he seemed to be better at concealing it. Tracker was never great at hiding their emotions, so there was no true relief from the pain that pushed on their chest, a solid and constant weight. They should have stopped noticing it by now.“I have, like, some gold, but when it was just me and my mom I used all of it for keeping her comfortable and making sure we’d be good, had to fucking learn how to deal with landlords because the school only dealt with so much of that shit. When I was hanging with Daybreak, I had gold to spend but,” the half-orc trailed off, staring down at the concrete ahead.  
“Yeah, no. It’s good that he’s-”  
“Dead?” Ragh supplied. At that moment, If anyone saw Ragh from across the street, they might have described the half-orc to be smiling. Tracker, searching for a response to what Ragh had just said, would know that that description only goes so deep.  
“I was gonna say not manipulating you anymore.”  
Ragh nodded his head, his mind still far away. “Yeah. That too.” Tracker remembered his flame-filled eyes, not burning with curiosity like Ayda’s, but with deep and profound hatred and anger. Tracker couldn’t picture the man without the glow of the surrounding pits of hell, but Ragh had… options? He had a choice in how he wanted to remember the man. “I never asked about what it was like,” they added, softly, “facing him in hell and everything.”  
The half-orc snorted, “Fuckin’ sucked,” and this was a real laugh, not like the smile of moments earlier. “Maybe it was good to like, face him and tell him how he fucked me up, but it was also just so fucking weird. Like, my father figure, or at least, y’know, an adult man I was close to was dead, and he had been for a year, or something? And I guess I assumed I was over it but then I had to help my friends kill him again? And like, the guy I used to love was there too? And they held on to everything they thought, nothing changed after all the fire and torture or whatever they got in hell.”  
Tracker wasn’t sure that they should be laughing, but they were and didn’t seem to be stopping. “Wow.”  
“Ch’yeah dude. But it must’ve been fuckin’ wild for you. You don’t even know this dude and all of a sudden he’s fully focused on killing you and no one else. We get taught about dropping the cleric or whatever but this was a whole nother level, he went after you so fast.”  
“Yeah, I think he saw the lesbian energy just vibrating around me and knew I infected his ticket to heaven.”  
The half-orc shook his head. “Fucked up.”  
“Oh, totally fucked up. Definitely reminded me of my parents.”  
“Fuck them.”  
Tracker knocked their head back and cackled to the open air, “Yeah, fuck them.”  
“Fuck all of them!”  
“Fuck them!”  
They would continue to repeat this until they reached the pier, growing louder and louder each time. They received weird looks, of course, but they weren’t trying to investigate a church just yet, so they really didn’t care.

\---

The pair found themselves amongst scholars and tourists, mainly elves and humans, with the rare aarakocra or tiefling. The people on the pier did not reflect the population of Solace, but more closely reflected the population of Falinell. Some would be welcomed, and others very much not. Ragh clearly looked uncomfortable, probably remembering how he was looked at by Fathethriel and other elves, surrounded only by those who looked and thought as they did. Tracker was a little surprised when Ragh offered to go back, this was exactly what they would be arriving to see. They found seats on the boat fairly easily, they doubted they ever traveled at max capacity, but even with all this space, Ragh tried to take up less space. But maybe he didn’t notice, maybe he was just trying to be polite.  
“Thanks for coming with me,” they said, watching their friend’s shoulders loosen with\ the distraction, “Part of me thought it’d be cool to do a whole ‘lone wolf’ thing, but the camper in me knew that it’s not super safe to travel alone.”  
“I’m fuckin pumped to be the muscle, dude.”  
The cleric snorted, “Ideally we won’t have to fight that many people.”  
“Either way, I’m stoked.”  
Tracker tilted their head back against the side of the ship, closing their eyes. “C’mon dude,” Ragh said, nodding his head toward his shoulder. It would certainly be more comfortable than the ship. “When you’re here, you’re family.”  
The noise that erupted from Tracker’s throat was somewhere between a chuckle, a groan, and a gag. “Ugh, shut up.”  
“But you had nothing against it when Kristen said it?”  
“Because Kristen is cute.”  
“Homie, I don’t know if you’ve realized, but I’m cute as hell. And I’m just saying that’s a little homophobic, that Kristen can say it but not me.”  
“All three people involved in this scenario are gay.”  
“That’s a fuckin’ convenient excuse.”  
The wind whistled from above, and Tracker nestled into their companion’s shoulder. Water crashed against the side of the boat as they trudged toward a land barely known to them.

\---

Officials from the Court of Stars waited where the dock met the land to greet those coming off the ships and ask them questions before they could truly enter Fallinel. They split passengers into lines and asked the same questions with the same blank face and the same tone. Teleportation, of course, bypassed this system, as the system was bureaucratic and not at all magical. Galicaea bless Ayda Aguefort, they never really thanked her for all she did. Maybe they’d make a trip to Leviathan after this. Bring her some new books for Compass Points. And an orange, too. But for now, they had to deal with the red tape. “We’re next homie,” Ragh nudged.  
An elf with flowing golden curls kept their eyes to the page, bored with just about everything that was happening, especially their quill and parchment. “Names?”  
“Ragh Barkrock and Tracker O’Shaunessy.”  
“Are you legally tied to each other?” The pair looked to one another, looking to see if the other had any clue how to respond. The absence of an answer finally made this worker look up from the table. “Are you married, family, or connected by a blood ritual?” The two gave a long and drawn out “oh” before shaking their heads, to which the elf sighed. “What brings you to Fallinel?”  
“We’re interested in some of the history,” Tracker responded. “We’ll be traveling from town to town and asking about local access to-”  
The elf, Wisparalei, if what was written at the bottom of the parchment was their name, wrote what looked to be ‘tourists’ and continued, “How long do you plan to be in Fallinel?”  
“About a month.”  
“Are you carrying anything containing Wyvern blood?”  
“No.”  
The quill scratched an ‘X’ over the first box. “Nectar of the Solstice?”  
They looked to Ragh, who seemed even more confused than they were. “No?”  
Wisparalei looked up and gave a dead look that threatened to tear right through them. “I need a certain ‘no.’”  
“No.”  
“Thank you.” Wisparalei drew an ‘X’ over the second box. “Enjoy your time in Fallinel.”As they wrote their last notes at the bottom of the form, Tracker realized that now they couldn’t read their handwriting, but whatever they wrote was longer than anything else that had already been written. There wasn’t even a section for notes, but they continued with them on another piece of parchment before ushering in another person from the ship. Even if it was Elvish, which it wasn’t because Tracker knew at least a few Elvish characters, the sheer quantity was strange.  
Ragh noticed Tracker straining to look as they walked away. “They probably think we look young and we’re just here to drink or whatever. Steal their Elven secrets and wreck the place. But we’re not, so there’s nothing to stress about.”  
“It looked weird though.”  
“A lot of this shit is gonna be weird. Maybe that had nothing to do with us. Maybe it's totally normal.”  
“Okay.”  
“Hell yeah.” He readjusted the straps of his bag as they rested on his shoulders. “Also,” he said, glancing back at the cleric, “what the fuck is Nectar of the Solstice?”  
“Dude, I have no clue.”

\---

“Clothes, bed, locals, church,” Tracker said, punctuating each by pounding their fist to the top of the other.  
Ragh nodded solemnly. “The four elements.” Tracker smiled and shook their head before reaching back into their bag and pulling out a map. Ragh snagged two for them as they walked off the boat, and now that they were officially in Fallinel they could start to devise a game plan. They had already discussed avoiding Kei Lumennura completely, so that section of the map had already been crossed out. What truths could they find about the moon goddess from some horny elven teens healing each other with song? They both shuddered at the thought.  
“I’m thinking if we head to Ral- Ral-reina-lay-an?  
“Ral-ray-nuh-lie-on?”  
“If we head there, we can probably figure out clothes, and it looks like they should have a church dedicated to Galicaea, but they also seem like they would have markets with a variety of clothes that might actually fit us.”  
“Homie, did you know your brain is massive?”  
“I didn’t, but I knew your ass was so thick that those stick elf clothes wouldn’t be able to contain you.”  
Ragh clapped a hand to his chest, looking like he was just about to tear up. “Bro-”  
“You should be proud of it, dude,” they shrugged. “So I think we’re going this way…”

\---

“I meant to ask about that.” The half-orc gestured awkwardly to Tracker’s hands as they spun the tool around their fingers. “You made sure you got it from the car and I- uh- if it's for cutting stuff, you know I have a sword, right?”  
Tracker’s eyebrows raised as they turned to laugh at their friend. “Dude.”  
“So it’s not for cutting stuff?”  
Tracker coughed. “I can cut some things, I used it for fish the other night but like, it’s more so that I have something to keep my hands busy..”  
He nodded. “Oh.”  
“It’s also just a keepsake though, something from home to have with me.” Something quiet and still settled in the space between them, but it was peaceful, comfortable. The ground was still slightly damp from the previous night’s rain, their leather boots sinking slightly into the ground with every step. “Jawbone gave it to me after being with him for a year,” they said, several minutes later. They had been walking for a while, and Ragh was fine to leave it at a keepsake, not one to pry, but he was also content to listen to a friend. “It was a celebration of being in a place that was accepting and being away from my shitty parents and shitty god. I mean, he said it was for ‘powering through lycanthropy’ because I’d gotten through a whole year, and that’s big, y’know?” They flipped out the blade and then concealed it, over and over, timing it with their steps. “But for me, it was a celebration of being with someone who cared.” Ragh knew Jawbone was Tracker’s uncle, but he never really got the story of what happened. He was left out of quite a few things. “I was thirteen when I was turned,” they continued, and Ragh, out of the corner of his eye, saw a muscle in their jaw lock. Whatever Tracker found in the distance held their gaze. “A little thirteen-year-old child of Sol who had no idea what the fuck was going on. I got attacked during a youth group camping trip, my luck, and what did my parents do when I got out of the hospital? They checked the calendar and made sure they could get rid of me before the next full moon.” That same inhale, same exhale. Same speed, same change in posture. Ragh knew it well. “I’ve done a lot in my life and I’ve found that there’s nothing quite like coming home only to discover it’s not your home anymore.”  
The sound of Tracker’s boots in the mud stopped beside him, and Ragh had to pivot to face them again. He watched as they closed their eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Let it out, homie.”  
Their eyebrows scrunched together as their eyes opened, staring straight ahead, burning into the horizon. When they spoke again, their voice was softer, defeated, even. “I was already questioning my faith in Sol when I was attacked, and that just made their decision easier.”  
So Ragh offered a soft response, “And then you moved in with Jawbone?”  
They blinked. “Yeah. I- uh- I knew who he was, even though my dad never talked about him. They were brothers, but it’s not like we had him over for the holidays. I saw him in an old family scrapbook, and I remembered his name, they never called him Jawbone, never said his name, and I looked him up while I was at a gas station. It took a while, but eventually, I found his number from an old listing. So then I called that phone, and he didn’t pick up immediately, because why would he? It’s like he ever got to meet me. He was never allowed to talk to me, forget having my number as a contact in one of his many phones.” Another deep breath. “He picked up the phone and I remember hearing his voice and staring at those boxes of granola bars and all of a sudden I was bawling.” Slowly, Ragh wrapped his arms around Tracker, and they told the rest of their story with their head pressed against his chest. “He never lived that far from us. An hour at the most from our house. He bought me a shitty gas station hot dog and drove me to his place, and let me sleep in his bed while he slept on the couch for a week before he could get me my own bed. He sat with me when I cried because I just kept crying, and we had pizza all the time because he never had time to cook, much less opportunity to get ingredients. There were five things in his cabinet when I got there, and two of them were peanut butter.” Ragh felt their shoulders shake as they let out the smallest laugh. “My birth parents wanted to be parents and did all the research, and they fucked up big time, but Jawbone just had a kid crying on the other end of a phone call and he wasn’t great, but at least he was there. At least he kept trying.” 

The cleric’s chin dug into his ribcage, but Ragh was perfectly fine holding them there. “I call him my uncle because that’s what he is, but he’s more of a dad to me than my birth father will ever be.” They stood there for a little while, silent but not at all awkward. If Ragh glanced away, it was only to make sure no one was sneaking up behind them.  
“I hate that I still get upset about them,” they continued. “I don’t talk about it a lot because I want to be over it but I’m not. Not completely.” They removed themself from the hug and wiped at their just-wet eyes. “Sorry I stopped us. Guess I didn’t realize how much it was bothering me.” They laughed as they held up the pocketknife again. “I just thought it was a cool knife.”  
“Everybody has shit they don’t let come to the surface. And I don’t think we’re that far from town. You’re good, dude, no stress.”  
“Thanks.” The knife continued to whirl about their fingers as the pair resumed their trek.  
So many things had to go wrong in both of their lives for them to have a chance of meeting, and now they were off to Ralreinalaian, however you said it. They were adventuring together.

\---

The pair tried to make purchasing strange and slightly uncomfortable clothes fun with a fashion montage, but it wasn’t the same. The lack of music and crop tops completely killed the vibe, not that it would’ve survived a good portion of the clothes they tried on. Most were restrictive and incredibly uncomfortable, they couldn’t even figure out how they would serve the most graceful and well trained high elves on these trails. Materials too thick to allow for breathability, not flexible enough for pulling back bowstrings or flipping through the trees. Where were the too-thin, too-see-through blouses that Fabian’s grandfather and aunts seemed to wear constantly? Perhaps those could only be found in exchange for eating a handful of grapes.  
Ragh emerged from a curtained off area of the store in reddish-orange breeches, a brown tunic, and several brown leather straps that were arranged haphazardly. Tracker squinted, trying to imagine how they should be worn. They likely weren’t supposed to be restricting Ragh’s circulation like they currently were. They sighed and hefted themself up to stand on the bench, ushering Ragh to turn around so they might be able to fix them, but to no avail. Luckily Mending was only a cantrip, and they could fix those that Ragh’s biceps inevitably snapped. Somehow it was even harder to get the device off of his body. “Please Galicaea let us not be thrown out of this fine establishment.” The tired cleric stepped off the bench and fetched from their satchel the leather-bound notebook Sandralynn had given them as a present before they left. They brought with them the oldest pens and pencils they could find around the house, in an attempt to be inconspicuous when writing around non-Solesians. It wouldn’t have quite the effect of rock music, but there was a risk with everything. Graphite grazed across the page as they sketched the moon, and with it, their goddess laying within its curve, hand reaching out to the howling wolf below. On the accompanying page, the last one they had written on, their quest stared back at them.  
Step one: get to Fallinel  
Step two: blend in  
Step three: talk to clerics, priests, or any kind of follower of Galicaea  
Step four: don’t get killed by radical elves  
They turned the page so that both were out of sight, and started a new note. This one was just two stick figures and the words “fuck dude” scratched into the parchment.  
Ragh tossed the breeches over the curtain, wrestling into what was hopefully a better outfit. Tracker folded them instinctively, making a neat stack to return once they were done. “Hey,” they called out, “When we get back to Elmville, do you want to go thrift shopping?”  
“Oh hell yeah, homie!”  
Tracker nodded, continuing their scribbles. “Fuck yeah. There’s a really great one down the street from Strongtower Apartments, we could get lunch afterward.”  
“Dude, I’ve been making mad progress with like, internal stuff, but ch’boy still hasn’t figured out his fuckin’ look!”  
“I think you would rock one of those geometric hoodies that get cut from like the center of the chest to the armpit.”  
With this, Ragh peaked his head out from between the hanging curtains. “A titty-out look?”  
“How else?”  
His mouth fell open, eyes wide and full of wonder. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

\---

When they reached Ralreinalaian initially, it was probably about midday. When they finally found clothes that would work for them, it was approaching nightfall. They hadn’t eaten since they left Harroway Bay, hadn’t slept in a bed in even longer, but hey, they were finally wearing the clothes like the other people they saw. It cost a hundred and thirty-two gold, a good portion of their gold, but it was justified.  
It was something.  
They emerged from the seamstress’s tent in “proper” adventuring clothes, Ragh in a deep emerald doublet, a brown leather jerkin, dark brown trousers, and padded black woolens, Tracker in a long blue tunic, layered with silver, grey, and darker blue pieces, cinched at the waist with a strip of braid black leather. It probably looked like a ton of scarves draped over each other but it was comfy and gave them no real shape which felt cool as hell.  
Even though it was summer, the elven homeland still carried a chill, but neither traveler was upset about their new accessories. The pair now owned a brown, wool-lined cloak and a black hooded cape, which they stared at themselves in for a while before purchasing. A little vanity, as a treat. The cleric also bought a purple frock, as they assumed it made be more fitting of a Galicaean cleric. It would remain tucked in their pack until necessary, too long to be worn during their travels. With it they kept a small piece of fabric with the phases of the moon that they would drape over their shoulder during gatherings. And then, of course, there was Ragh’s new baldric, to replace the belt loop that had held his sword previously.  
From underneath Tracker’s cozy layers, their stomach grumbled. “I’m thinking we find some food and find a room somewhere before I go looking for a place of worship,” they said, headed further into town.  
Ragh walked alongside. “Do you want me to come with?”  
“For dinner? I mean, yeah, I figured we’d eat together, can’t get rid of me that quickly-”  
“No, I mean when you go to talk to other priests.”  
The cleric glanced up at their friend, smiling, “Of course?”  
“Cause if I’m gonna, like, mess things up for you, y’know-”  
“You’re good, Ragh. You’re not gonna mess things up.” They knocked a shoulder into the half-orc’s arm, the height difference making the action next to unnoticeable to him. “Besides, what good is a bodyguard that stays in a hotel the whole time?”

\---

The pair received a strange look from nearly everyone in town as they made their way to the church of Galicaea, but this was to be expected. No one looked like them in that town, it was probably rare that they saw anyone like them in weeks, maybe months, depending on how active their markets were. They couldn’t say they would’ve visited if they didn’t have an area dedicated to Galicaea. The path leading to this church was clean, with no roots to trip over or pebbles to eventually get caught in your shoes. Pretty much all of the paths were clear, but they didn’t see anyone like Telemaine who was only there to tend to the grounds. As they approached, the silhouette of the building loomed over them, much like how Mordred Manor seemed to loom over Tracker after their time in the Nightmare forest.  
Back in Elmville, Tracker discussed elements of Galicaean faith with others on bean bag chairs, surrounded by art that other followers had made on the surrounding walls. They made offerings, they learned how to become more in tune with their body, they studied and celebrated change. There were no set times for services, no dues, no uniforms. There were expectations, of course, but seldom could a single action remove you from the community of those worshipping the night in Solace. Trust was earned and developed, tended to over some time. Neither the cleric nor the barbarian knew the community that had developed on this island but cast their judgment upon sight of the rigid and cold frame of the church, its only window was a large circle, front and center. The door swung open fluidly, Ragh catching it before it could hit anything else. Ragh and Tracker weren’t well versed in stealth, but they tried to calm themselves. There was no need to sneak. They had every right to be there.  
A voice erupted from deeper within the church, robe lit partially in the moonlight. “Can I help you?” The man kneeled to grab a piece of paper off the floor and turned around to face the pair. “I know the names and faces of those who come to this place, you’re either new or something has been done to my memory.”  
“You haven’t seen us before,” Ragh said, his feet planted beside the door. Tracker, however, continued inward.  
“I’m a cleric of Gallicaea from Solace, I came to speak to followers of Gallicaea in Fallinel to see how we can best support each other, as we’ve isolated ourselves over time.”  
The elf’s eyebrows raised. “We aren’t gathering tonight, but I’d be willing to talk.”  
“That’s great, because I’ve been looking for someone to talk about what happened in the forest of Sylvaire-”  
“I thought you wanted to talk about how your people in Solace can assist us?”  
“Well yeah, but can’t we help each other by sharing information and trying to collectively figure out our past?”  
He folded the piece of paper in his hands and turned back to the table, standing behind his chair. “I can’t help you with that.”  
“Sir, you might know more than you think.”  
“I can tell you about Fallinel and I can tell you about how we worship her here.”  
“Could you tell me why the high elves of Fallinel have distanced themselves from werewolves who follow the same goddess they do?  
His hands gripped the edge of his chair, pale knuckles practically glowing in the light of the moon. “I recommend you leave.”

\---

“It’s just the first church, just the first place we visited,” Tracker mumbled over and over as the two piled into the inn.  
Ragh flopped down on the bed, having thrown his bag on the floor by the door. “Still fucking sucks.”  
“I can be mad again tomorrow, right now I’m just fucking tired,” Tracker responded, slipping their shoes off by the door and setting their bag beside their companion’s. “I’m gonna brush my teeth but then-” As they turned, they found only one bed in their room. “Is there another”  
“Another what?”  
“Bed, bro.” The half-orc propped himself up on his elbows, glancing about.  
“I guess they just assumed?”  
“I can’t even be mad, that's hilarious. We are going to end up cuddling, one hundred percent.”  
“Oh, fuck yeah, dude.”

\---

They did end up cuddling that night, Ragh’s arm wrapped around Tracker’s side, the other around the pillow at the top of the bed. Neither was truly asleep though, they had just finally got comfortable enough to have a chance at sleeping. When one pair of eyes fluttered, the other shot open, exchanging glimpses of rest.  
After a while, the voice of the half-orc interrupted the silence of the room, replacing slow breathing with soft words, “You awake?”  
The werewolf stretched from beneath his arm. “Yeah.”  
“Couldn’t sleep?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Same.” This brought no sense of comfort to the two, not really, as their agreement was no cure for restlessness. But Tracker flipped onto their other side, undisturbed.  
“Was the Nightmare King Quest weird for you too?” they asked. Ragh watched the creases in their forehead return. “I mean. I don’t really talk to the other Bad Kids that much, I try, but I don’t know that I have much in common with any of them. I think Adaine’s my cousin now? And Fig is cool and everyone is nice but I don’t know. Felt like I was part of the group, but also definitely not part of the group.”  
Ragh hummed, “Yeah. I’m on the Bloodrush team with Gorgug and Fabian and we hang out and I’ll hang out with Riz too, and then Kristen and I ran the LGBT student union together so we were chill, but what happened in detention just made them really close and I don’t know if we could ever get in on that.”  
“Thank you for coming with me.”  
“‘Course.”

\---

Another church in another town they couldn’t pronounce. Not that they weren’t trying, no matter what it was, it refused to come out of either of their mouths smoothly. This priestess was slightly more helpful than the last and talked with them for quite a while. No information on what happened in Sylvaire, but she did talk with Ragh and Tracker about how the high elves viewed certain creatures of the night and how that came about. Hostility toward the werewolves, she guessed, grew in Fallinel as lycanthropy became considered an illness and a curse instead of a reaction to an interaction with a deity. The priestess even sent them off with a recommendation for a place to stay the night. She likely wasn’t giving them everything she could, but all they could ask for was more than a cold shoulder.  
The entrance to this place led to the pub, and it didn’t appear there was an innkeeper to speak to. Ragh shrugged and the two approached the bartender. “Who could we speak to about getting a room?” Tracker asked, “I don’t want to interrupt what you’re doing.”  
“I’m sorry, but we currently have no vacant rooms,” the bartender responded.  
“We heard from someone in town that there were always vacancies here.”  
He wiped the inside of a glass, looking down at the two travelers. “Unfortunately, it’s a rather busy night.”  
“I thought you guys didn’t get many visitors around this time of year. You're more popular during the winter months, someone said?”  
“It’s quite rude of you to ask so many questions as a guest in my establishment. There are no vacancies. Unless there is something else I can assist you with, I would ask that you leave.” The second time in 24 hours or so that they had heard those words, it was almost funny.  
A group of girls appeared, giggling as they made their way over to the entrance of the inn. Their oversized bags floated behind them as they walked, bobbing up and down and glowing faintly.  
“Don’t bother,” Ragh called out, “They don’t have any vacancies.”  
One of the girls rolled her eyes and another raised an eyebrow at Ragh. The other two didn't even look at them, merely continued to walk inside.  
“No, it's cool, don’t take my word for it. Assholes.”  
Tracker continued to watch the girls as they followed Ragh into Whispers of ‘Ol, the closest thing this place probably had to a diner. The girls didn’t leave the tavern, even after Ragh and Tracker finished their meal.  
When Tracker pointed this out to Ragh, the half-orc frowned. “Maybe they had a reservation?” But he didn’t even sound like he believed himself. “We can try another place-” but he stopped, suspecting they’d continue to get similar answers. “Why don’t we just camp out?”

\---

Ragh watched as Tracker tied a piece of rope between two trees before catching the wind on whatever sheet of material they pulled from their bag. They might have mentioned it earlier, he truly couldn’t remember. They thought they would be bringing the van, so they’d sleep in the van too, why would they bring a bright orange tent from Solace? Ragh offered to help, but they said it would be easier to cast Moon Haven if they knew exactly where everything was. So he watched, throwing a piece of wood into their fire every once in a while to boil their water. Another piece of plastic(? cloth?) sat on the ground beneath the line of rope, where Tracker had cleared away any sharp rocks or branches. His mom talked about going camping, and he never figured out how to make that happen for her, he should.  
“Did Sandralynn teach you how to pitch a tent?”  
Tracker laughed, eyes on their DIY mallet, otherwise known as a big stick. “No?”  
“Oh, she just did it so fast. I thought she taught you how to do that, like ranger stuff.”  
“No, I hike and camp and stuff, my closeness to nature is part of how I maintain a connection with Galicaea.”  
“So, who taught you?”  
They tapped the stakes lightly, considering. “I was gonna say I figured it out on my own but, y’know, not exactly?” Tracker appreciated that Ragh didn’t hide his emotions in his facial expressions, flashes of intrigue and curiosity laid before them. “It’s embarrassing.”  
“I thought for a year that I shit myself when it turns out? I fully didn’t.”  
Tracker winced. “There was this thing my parents made me do after church. It was called Sol’s PIT Crew? We did this-”  
“-Sorry, what?” Just as Ragh perked up, Tracker deflated.  
Their shoulders slumped. “It was against my will.”  
“What the fuck is Sol’s Pit Crew?”  
“Sol’s Paladins in Training. We went camping and learned about how things prospered in nature under his light and how to live under his word and-”  
“YOU WERE GONNA BE A PALADIN?” If Tracker was ever able to differentiate between Ragh’s pupils and irises, they certainly wouldn’t have been able to now. The man was high on blackmail material.  
“I should’ve just said I taught myself.”  
“No, this is way better.”  
“My parents weren’t paladins, they wanted to be but they said they didn’t have the necessary training. It’s kinda like Fantasy Toddlers in Tiaras, where the moms wanted to be beauty queens when they were kids so they forced their children to fulfill their dreams.”  
“Oh, totally.”  
“So after church, we would garden as a way of appreciating His gifts, and then there were these retreats-”  
“-Where you stand in a field and sing about how much you love him?”  
“Yeah, until nightfall because then we go to sleep immediately so we can wake up at sunrise to thank him for his return.”  
“Holy shit. I was joking about the field.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Did you at least get a sword?”  
Tracker took a second to respond, face twisted in confusion. “What?”  
“Don’t paladins get swords?”  
“Oh, yeah, older ones do. If I stayed with the program, there would’ve been a huge ceremony where my mentor and I crafted a blade together and my parents gave me something to set into the hilt, and everyone would cry and I would be bathed in his light. The whole deal.”  
“Oh.” There was quiet for a few moments, and Tracker took this time to pull over their tent a small piece of canvas treated with a Shape Water concentrate. Not exactly their hydrophobic rainfly, but it looked simple enough and would keep them from getting soaked.  
“A sword would be cool though.”

\---

It was a lot easier to sleep in the Moon Haven than the elven inn, but Ragh still found himself waking up every other hour. By the time the sun came up, he figured it would be more worthwhile to just get moving. Even though the tent could now fit ten people, Ragh found Tracker curled around him, head on his chest and his arm wrapped around them. He wasn’t complaining about having a cuddle buddy again, he missed his snuggles with his bros, but Tracker being more of a night owl meant he had to move them off of him without waking them up. No amount of pillows could replace The Ragh Barkrock, but he made do. If he had his phone, he would’ve taken a picture for Kristen, and maybe fantasy googled what the fuck was happening in Fallinel, but things had to be complicated. The half-orc changed back into his trousers and doublet and peeled back a flap of the tent. Light poured in, Ragh tried to close it as much as possible to keep it from getting into his sleeping friend’s eyes as he pulled on his shoes.  
Dew coated the ground, each drop shining in the sun like a gem. All they needed was a buck hurling stardust and-  
Ragh couldn’t even finish the thought without shuddering. He hauled himself out of the warm bubble created by the Moon Haven and began his daily stretches. He’d have to wait a while until he could call his mom, she would be sleeping or getting as close as she could to sleep for the next few hours, he knew how awful it was to have your sleep interrupted when you were as tired as his mother always was. He volunteered to go with Tracker because he enjoyed being around them and wanted to continue adventuring, but also because his mom wanted him to keep seeing the world to tell her about it all. There was no such thing as a bad phone call with Lydia Barkrock.  
As Ragh became lost in his thoughts, Tracker began stirring, grumbling at the loss of the furnace that was their friend and traveling companion. There was work to do, they had to get up at some point. Just as Tracker rubbed their eyes and pulled open the tent flap, they saw someone approaching that same friend from behind as he walked toward them. He waved, but Tracker pointed, “Ragh there’s-”  
The barbarian turned around and shouted, diving for the sword he mistakenly left in the tent. The figure that was previously behind him flinched before straightening herself and her cloak. Ragh’s dive allowed Tracker to see the full figure, not just the parts that stuck out from behind the half-orc’s impressive frame. A tall and slender elf stood before the pair, hands clasped behind her back. Her skin was a rich brown, as though she was carved from the trees, given life from the sun itself.  
“Didn’t mean to startle you both. Good morning.” She stuck her hand out to the half-orc, her arm stiff. “Niamh Caliad.” She must have caught Ragh’s brief flicker of confusion, as she quickly added, “Not a high elf.”  
“The name wasn’t the part I was...” he started, trailing off. They shook hands, but neither Tracker nor Ragh introduced themselves. So far they had been avoided by the elves, this was certainly new. “After you talked to the priest of the Galicaean church in Ralreinalaian, a message was sent to me and other followers of Galicaea in the Court of Stars.”  
Of course, the priest in Ralreinalaian felt the need to report them to the Court of Stars. But more important, Tracker noticed how Ralreinalaian didn’t seem to fit on her tongue either, while she had adapted a halfway High Elven accent, she stumbled around some of their words. They did not point this out to Niamh, and instead asked, “Are you a member of the Court of Stars?” They did some research at the library before they headed out, but some books were left without updates. Even still it was unlikely. Niamh’s face confirmed just how unlikely it was.  
She shook her head, partially amused, “No, I’m not old enough, but I appreciate the compliment. I’m the cleric of Galicaea, tasked with informing the Court of Stars, or at least my connected member of the Court stars with information relating to the churches of Galicaea in the major towns, and the shrines devoted to her in smaller, sparser towns. When I received word of your visit, I wanted to show how we welcome and celebrate her here.” She turned to Ragh. “Are you also a follower?”  
Ragh looked to Tracker, who furrowed their brows, and responded, “No, I’m just their traveling buddy.”  
“Oh, okay then. Well, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your travels together, but I was hoping to take you to some of her divine spaces here.”  
“Maybe we’ll meet up with you in each town as we get there.”  
“Sounds lovely. There is a moonlight path though that I’m not sure you’d be given access to that connects this town and the next.”  
“We haven’t decided where we’re going next,” Tracker said, as Ragh pulled them up and out of the Moon Haven.  
“And now you have,” she beamed, “Have you eaten breakfast yet?”  
“No.” They titled their head, chin toward the tent they just awoke from. “We just got up.”  
“Oh, there’s a wonderful place, Whispers of ‘Ol, I think? Their scones are incredible.”  
“Yeah, we went there when we got in last night.”  
“We tried to get dinner at the tavern across the street, they looked at us like we couldn’t afford it.”  
“That’s ridiculous, You’re Solesians.” With that, she pivoted and headed out on those too-clean paths. “I’ll grab an assortment while you pack up?”  
Tracked glanced back at Ragh, who shrugged. “Do they give every pilgrim a government official?” they asked, watching the braid sway along the elf’s back as she continued up the hill.  
“No,” she turned over her shoulder and smirked, “Just the ones connected to the destruction of Calethriel Tower.”

\---

Ragh watched Niamh as she handed Tracker a pastry, and then Ragh, and then set out toward that “moonlit path.” He watched as Tracker searched for the priestess met just last night, unable to find her. He kept his hand close to his blade as he watched every turn of the elf’s wrist and every twitch of the werewolf. He tried to understand the history they spoke of, the doctrines and questions, all of it, but he didn’t have enough background. And that wasn’t why he was here, he could tell Tracker what he did know, and it was that one, something fucked up was happening, and two, everyone seemed to smile when Niamh did, but Tracker likely already knew both of those things. He didn’t know how to feel about the last one, because it meant people were kinder to him and his friend, that they didn’t receive as many strange looks, that priests and priestesses and clergy and scholars alike offered information to them, it even meant that Tracker would get out of their head every once in a while, but it also meant Niamh had perfected her smile. And anything elves knew to perfect, they knew how to weaponize.

\---

After two days with Niamh, two nights of being offered to stay in the nicest inns and taverns, two nights of choosing to camp out instead, Ragh mentioned his observations to Tracker. After two days of smiles, the two were quiet.  
“I don’t know.”  
Always so tired.

\---

They didn’t talk until they were almost asleep. Their routine continued, getting ready to sleep, but taking forever to actually sink into it. Slowly coming closer as they blinked in and out of consciousness.  
“I’ve thought about breaking up with Kristen,” Tracker said, breaking the near-silence they had held since dinner.  
Darkvision meant that Ragh could glance over and see the creases in Tracker’s face as they stared up to where the stars would be, if not for the leather and canvas in their way. "That’s heavy, dude. You guys seemed really tight.” He wondered if Tracker could see him in that moment, if they know how intently he was listening.  
“I’m the first lesbian she met, and the only one she’s gotten close to. I love her so much, but I think sometimes I’m scared that I’m the only person that was open to her love and so she took the opportunity that presented itself to her. The emphasis on experience is bullshit but like I’ve gotten to figure out what I like and Kristen- Kristen hasn’t had anyone but me. I feel like she deserves a chance to know what else is out there before she decides that I’m the one.”  
“So are you worried about Kristen or worried you won’t be enough for Kristen?”  
There was a long pause from Tracker, chest rising and falling and rising and falling. “I don’t know,” they admitted, “Maybe both? We have trauma in common instead of like, roller derby or something.” They started grinding their teeth, a habit Ragh recently noticed in them. “What happened during the quest for the Nightmare King’s crown really upset me, with Sandralynn and Garthy and how Kristen didn’t think it was important to tell me and even when I wanted to break up she didn’t take it seriously. I feel like she doesn’t think twice about it, about anything and everything, but I’m left freaking out about it.” They sat up and brought a hand through their hair, which was growing longer by the day. “We don’t have to keep talking about it.”  
Ragh sat up as well, bringing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. “It’s cool homie. I’m cool with listening but if you want we can talk about my lack of a love life. Or the elves that might be plotting to kill us at this very moment.”  
Tracker chuckled. “Yeah. I don’t want to worry about that tonight.”  
A nod. “Chill.”  
“Do you want to talk about them?”  
“Who?”  
As far as Ragh knew, Tracker didn’t have Darkvision, but they found his eyes as soon as they turned. “Fabian and Gorgug.”  
The half orc’s mouth fell open, betrayed. “Bro, not cool, who told you?”  
“No one told me directly, but you’re pretty obvious.”  
“No, I’m not!”  
Tracker puffed out their chest and flexed their arms “Check it out, I’m gay,” they said, having dropped their voice by at least an octave.  
Ragh scoffed, “That was, like, for solidarity and shit!”  
The cleric stifled a laugh. “I tried to figure out which between the two of them, because I know how close you are to Gorgug, and you guys having classes together-”  
“-and prom,” Ragh added, resigned.  
“What happened at prom?” Ragh shook his head, but Tracker pushed, “Nope, you brought it up, c’mon.”  
“He kissed me?” Now Tracker’s mouth hung open.  
“I hate gay people.”  
“He’s not gay!” Ragh shrugged, watching Tracker roll their eyes before he flopped back down to his pillow.  
“But then there’s Fabian,” Tracker continued as the barbarian groaned, throwing an arm over his face to cover his eyes, “because you were there for him in Leviathan, and the shrimp party and the thing with the gnomes and everything.”  
“‘M just trying to be a good friend.” He listened as the cleric settled back down into their sleeping bag and removed his arm to see them staring up at the sky again.  
They let out a slow breath, trying to piece together a response. “I don’t know about the Bad Kids, but I was afraid for Fabian. He went through some really dark stuff and I didn’t know what he was going to do. Adaine basically told him he couldn’t be depressed because it didn’t work that way which seemed out of character for her but it also just pissed me off, so. You made sure you were with him while he rested and made sure he ate and just. Looked out for him when he wasn’t really looking out for himself. He’s a strong guy, but I think you made him feel safe in the fact he didn't have to be strong all the time.” Ragh didn’t respond. Tracker nudged the half-orc and smiled, canines peaking out slightly. “From the little I’ve heard about Dayne, they’re both major improvements.”  
“Yeah.”  
“They’re good guys.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Have you liked any guys you weren’t that close to?”  
“I don’t know if I really ever let myself. There was Fethrethriel but that was just- I don’t- he wanted me. And I think I liked being someone who could be with another person and not have to think about all the layers to it. There’s so much figuring out I have to do I’m fucking tired of it. I didn’t go to school to be wise, I went to school to wreck shit.”  
Tracker hummed. “There was this girl, back before I dropped out of school. We were little, but I was always around her, and I was part of the church of Sol, and so was she and so we didn’t know what being gay was, so we would just cuddle in her bed and sometimes kiss each other but we told ourselves that that’s just what good friends did? And then I got kicked out and my parents probably told her I died and it wasn’t like I could keep going to school at Mumple. So I just started meeting other werewolves and queer people and ended up kissing a lot of people. It was a steep learning curve but I was learning about myself and knew I’d figure shit out.”  
“It’s nice to know yourself. Sounds nice.”  
“It’s nice to try to know yourself, I don’t know if we ever really get there.”  
The crisp, cool air cradled their words, laughter and confessions the music of midnight. Ragh fell asleep before Tracker, leaving them to sit in their own thoughts, a scary thing. Nights like this weren’t going to define their journey, they were nothing like the words exchanged with priestesses and worshippers and entitled government officials. But they mattered just as much, if not more.

\---

“Now,” Niamh said, greeting the two as she had the last few mornings, “the Court of Stars hasn’t asked me to take you to the City of Twisted Red, it’s not well developed enough to have the standard five churches, but like many of the smaller towns, there are several small devoted groups that find places suitable to worship.”  
Ragh straightened. “We were trying to find some of those smaller places, but they’re not on maps.”  
“They’re not official places of worship, they wouldn’t be advertised as such.”  
“But you’d be willing to show us?” Tracker asked, eyes flashing from Niamh to Ragh and back.  
“Well,” she paused, lips pursed, “Maybe.”  
“I’d appreciate whatever you’d be willing to take us to see.”  
She nodded. “Then we’ll head that way today instead.

\---

“So uh,” Ragh looked to Niamh, “The Twisted Red? Is that-”  
“Redwood branches that twisted into each other over time, making the forest kind of its own structure for the city to join.”  
“Oh. Cool. I thought maybe-”  
“Some dark and twisted place plagued with violence and bloodshed?”  
There was a bite to her words, daring for comment. For someone so seemingly calm, it took little for her to respond with an attack. Ragh remembered some of what Aelwyn told him about her parents and let the conversation fall.

\---

“Here we are,” Niah announced, rocking back on her heels.  
“Yeah, you weren’t kidding about this being a small town. I see, like, two people.”  
Niamh started laughing, “Those are travelers passing through. Look up.”  
Above were bridges and bridges connected each tree to the next, with light poking out of the bark in thin streams, like a titan made jack o'lanterns out of the forest. Ragh and Tracker assumed they looked pretty stupid with their mouths hanging open, trying to figure out how far up it all was. “That’s the city,” she beamed, “Home sweet home.”  
The real motivation for stopping there.  
“How do we get up?”  
“Stairs, of course?” she turned her head. “Would there be any other way?” Tracker tried to estimate how many flights it would be before Niamh started laughing. “I kid, no one takes the stairs anymore. Come, this way.”  
Niamh had to look around a few times before she found what she was looking for. She handed Tracker the book she had been holding before peeling away a large piece of bark from a tree to reveal its hollow center. The two followed her in and Niamh motioned to close the door behind them. Ragh tried awkwardly to replace the piece of bark “Make sure you stand toward the center.” They saw the interior of the tree had an indented corkscrew winding its way up the wall, and a rune burnt into the platform of wood they found themselves standing in the center of. “You might want to close your eyes, but hopefully I can make it go a little slower.”  
“What does that mean?”  
She grinned. “You’ll see”  
Niamh traced the tail of the rune with her foot, and the platform they stood on turned, and as it turned in the corkscrew it crawled its way up the side. It started incredibly quickly, and Ragh reached out a hand to balance himself against Tracker, their knees bent to brace themselves. They looked toward the ground so as to not dizzy themselves further. Slowly, Niamh drew her foot out from the rune, and the platform slowed its ascent. Ragh and Tracker almost expected to hear some sort of “ding!” as they reached the top, Niamh pushing open another piece of bark to reveal the world of bridges and treehouses. Niamh turned back to them, eyes bright. “A chain reaction of multiple powerful Gust of Wind spells, the process set off by that single rune. The simple act of me dragging my foot. Truly something, isn’t it?” She turned around and set off across a bridge to the next building, assuming her company would follow.  
Now the wind-tree-elevator was remarkable, and Gorgug or Adaine would probably want to ask Niamh more about how it worked, but what was more interesting was the change in Niamh’s demeanor. She was so official, so proper when showing off the Court of Stars’ designated Galicaean churches. Now she was practically skipping, her braid swinging back and forth. The pair of adventurers were wary about these wooden bridges, but had to trust its structure as they jogged to follow Niamh. “Where are we going, Niamh?”  
“We’re going to see my father!”  
“I thought we were going to the temple of Galicaea?”  
“The temple is near my father’s home,” the elf smiled over her shoulder, “I’m sure you’re both hungry?”  
“We wouldn’t just take a meal.”  
“Yeah, we have gold.”  
She considered this, head tilted to the side, a smile still playing on her lips. “He wouldn’t accept your gold. But I’m sure he’ll take a story.”  
Niamh approached a shabby door with windows on either side, accompanied by flower trays holding closed purple bulbs of some sort, strange to not be blooming at this point in the summer. She knocked a strange pattern and waited quietly, rolling up and down on her toes and heels. Before too long the door opened to see a warm man, just slightly shorter than Niamh herself, in what had to be the more comfortable looking clothes Tracker or Ragh had ever seen. He shared Niamh’s longer braid, if only hers had grown salt and pepper. His face lit up as he saw his daughter, wrapping her in his cardigan-covered arms. It was mildly chillier at this altitude. He grabbed her shoulders after they released from the hug, his voice jovial and smooth as he laughed, “I wasn’t sure who could be at the door, no one really knocks when they come to visit. I was afraid the authorities had come to collect me.” When he noticed the two standing behind his daughter, he turned. “If you are the authorities, I will say that that was a joke.”  
“They’re not the authorities, father. Just some guests, it’s their first time in the city.”  
“I assumed they weren’t, they’re far from the usual identical high elves standing perfectly still.”  
“I work with those high elves,” Niamh mumbled.  
“Ah. Yes. You do.” Niamh sighed as her father made his way over to his new guests. “Kieran Caliad,” He said, his arms out as though preparing for a hug. Tracker stuck out an arm and watched the man smile as he settled for a handshake. His eyes traced up the pair, cocking his head when he met Tracker’s.  
“Are you a child of the moon?” he asked. Splinters of light made their way through the treetops like each beam needed to find Kieran and assist him in his everyday adventures. Tracker wondered if this man knew anything but warmth. He asked that question in a way that felt strange, but carried with it familiarity. Like how someone would ask if you were a coworker’s child, or if you were in the newspaper recently, finding some resemblance or recognition in a face, even though they were certain they had never met this man before in their life.  
“I-uh- even better, I’m a cleric of hers.” The creases around his eyes deepened as he grinned, cupping their hands in his own.  
He then turned to Ragh to cup his hands. “And a friend! Two for tea! Niamh, you know how to make an old man’s day,” He let Ragh’s hands fall as he continued, “You all are lucky, I made more than I would be able to eat myself.” Niamh gave a fond and knowing look from behind his shoulder, out of her father’s sight, that confirmed to Tracker that this was not a matter of luck. This man always made multiple servings, more than he would possibly need, just in case someone needed a meal. He turned and gestured for the group to follow him inside. “Please, set down your bags, there’s no need to keep those heavy things on you for the next hour or so, we’ve got plenty of things here if you-” the man trailed off as he walked away, into the kitchen, leaving the three standing quietly in the doorway. Niamh slipped off her shoes and helped the two with their bags.  
“Is he a diviner?” Ragh asked.  
“No, he’s just good at reading people. He’s a spiritual man, but he didn’t take on divine magic or any sort of oath. He mainly makes salves and stews, natural cures for common ailments.  
“Like the friend who brings you chicken noodle soup,” Ragh said softly, mainly to himself.  
“I’m going to assume that’s a Solesian thing and agree with your comparison.”  
“If you’d be willing to set the table, I will be over with the stew in a second. Niamh, can you slice some of that bread?”  
“What one?”  
“The rosemary and sea salt.” Niamh hummed, dancing out of her father’s way, handing Ragh the bowls and Tracker the silverware. The two worked in tandem, never once interrupting the actions of the other. She seemed more right here than she had in any other town. Here she held no authority, no weight on her shoulders.  
The Solesians tried to be polite and engage with their gracious host, but spent a good portion of the meal going back for more stew. Niamh excused herself to grab some mint from her father’s garden for her water, and this reminded Ragh of a question he had when they first arrived. “What are those purple bulbs beside your door?”  
“Moon flowers,” he said, “they only bloom at night. Do you garden?  
“Uh, yeah, I’ve been learning some gardening stuff with their uncle and some other people at our house.”  
“It’s a wonderful thing, and pardon my pun, but it can really ground you!”  
Niamh returned with a sprig of mint and a scarf, seemingly one picked from her father’s closet. “Father, tell them what you call the moon flowers.”  
The man’s bushy gray brows furrowed. “I just said, I call them moon flowers.”  
“No, father, the other name.”  
“Oh! Nulips! I call them nulips.”  
“New lips?” Tracker laughed.  
“Night tulips! The bulbs look like tulips, but they only open at night! Truly delightful.”  
Ragh helped Niamh wash the dishes as Mr. Caliad presented his drawings to Tracker. One mirrored something Tracker had drawn just recently, the goddess holding on to the moon while stretching and reaching out to a crowd of people. He left Tracker to flip through the pages, take in his notes and scribbles.  
“Would you like to join me up in the treetops? The view is just lovely.”  
“When did you want to show us the temple of Galicaea?”  
“It’s still light outside, the temple can wait until after you take in the world from above.” Their hospitality seemed so strange in comparison to pretty much every local they dealt with before, a small part of Tracker told them to run, and a small part of Ragh kept his hand close to his weapon. Though, it would be hard to grab it properly without dropping his wonderful cup of tea. Out of the corner of Tracker’s eye, they saw Niamh looking at her father, happier than they had looked in all of their days of smiling and guiding and welcoming.  
“I never really considered myself a tea person,” Ragh confessed.  
“Why not, my boy?”  
“I struggled a lot with my sense of masculinity and I think I associated tea with being dainty and-” Tracker let their conversation fade into the background as they followed Niamh up to the top of the tree.  
Niamh wasn’t lying, the view from the top of her father’s tree was probably one of the best Tracker had ever seen, maybe only beaten by a trip on Baxter. As they looked out toward the horizon, they felt the elf’s hand move dangerously close to their own, and placed it in their lap before turning toward her. “You’re a follower of Galicaea, right?”  
“It is because of Galicaea I was able to know my mother as long as I did. I owe her everything, my faith is only a fraction of what I would give to her.”  
Tracker brought their legs to their chest, wrapping their arms around them as they did so. “So how do you feel about what they’re doing to her?”  
Niamh watched the sun as it began to dip into the horizon. The sunset painted her face: gold, orange, yellow, pink, purple.“They haven’t done anything.”  
“Then-”  
“I’m going to check in on my father, make sure he isn’t boring Ragh to death. Stay up here as long as you like, my father may join you to star watch before he makes his way over to the temple.”

\---

Mr. Caliad did end up coming to treetops to watch the stars with them, and was also the person who brought them to the Twisted Red Temple of Galicaea. “Niamh had something she had to take care of,” he assured, “pesky high elves.” Ragh decided not to join, instead copying some of the healer’s recipes to bring back to Solace, promising him he would tell no one other than Tracker or his mother.  
The man took Tracker’s hand and walked them over to another redwood with a large arch instead of an actual door, where they were greeted by dozens of other wood elves.  
Andromeda, the first to greet them, told Tracker about her studies of werewolves, trying to find lost words of the first to speak with Galicaea and learn her language, the language of the tides. Ronan spoke of Galicaea’s brother, Sol, and theorized that there was another sibling, younger, but they needed to travel to study it. Clover told them of mushrooms that followed the pull of the tides, no matter how far from the water they were, Moira talked about all the things we might learn about Galicaea if we tried harder to speak to more species that were nocturnal, that they needed to join druids to learn not just from beings who can speak Common or even Celestial. Tracker’s heart was racing, this was what they needed, this was everything they could have asked for, people were giving them notes and asking their thoughts on certain actions of Galicaea, how her words may be interpreted today. When the sun started to rise again, Mr. Caliad helped Tracker escape. If they didn’t leave soon, they might never, asking and answering and discussing, truly.  
“Niamh can’t be here to show you this because she’s not supposed to be engaging with it herself anymore,” Kieran whispered as he walked Tracker back to his humble home. “She used to sound just like you, she wanted to learn, she wanted to discuss.” Tracker watched as he swallowed, eyes never hardening. “I was so glad she brought you, the only thing that could’ve made it better would have been bringing her with us. Being able to think for herself again.”  
Tracker stopped in the middle of the bridge. “Should we be worried about Niamh?”  
“You tell me.”

\---

Father, daughter, and guest reunited at the front door of the Caliad tree  
“You’re back,” Niamh said, face blank.  
“Yeah, it was a productive night.”  
“Good.” The elf nodded. “Well, I can’t imagine you’re well-rested enough to head out to Thilsarine, so I suppose I’ll head that way and you and Ragh will meet me there?”  
“Yeah, I’ll talk to him about it.”  
“I already did. He wanted you to get some sleep. If I know my father, there’s a guest bedroom already prepared.” Kieran nodded in return. “I’ll be on my way then.” Niamh pushed past the two as they went inside the house.

\--- 

“She’s just upset,” Ragh said.  
“Weren’t you just worried about what she was going to do?”  
“I don’t know, okay?”  
“The Court of Stars isn’t letting her engage with her own town.”  
“She still brought us here, she still wanted us to know.”  
“But she gets mad at me for asking questions? Ragh, you didn’t hear her dad, he sounds worried about her, he doesn’t know what she’s doing.”  
“And you didn’t hear her talking about how important this place is to her, about how she can’t talk to many people about it because she’s surrounded by people who don’t think any other way.”  
“So she’s becoming one of those people?”  
“Because she knows she can’t do anything about it without putting, I don’t know, her dad in danger? This is deeper than us.”  
Tracker paused, considering their options. The Court of Stars probably knew everything Niamh knew, even if they can trust Niamh, there’s still the connections to Niamh that could cause trouble. “So what if we don’t go to Thilsarine, what if we do a little more of our own digging so we don’t have to figure out what she can and can’t tell us?”  
“And we just don’t tell her?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Okay.”

\---

Kieran sent them off with a basket of chive and cheddar rolls, telling them they'd be welcome any time. He circled a small town on the map that they’d be able to visit with connections to other lunar gods and slipped a packet of seeds in Ragh’s bag.  
Fallinel was the homeland of high elves, but there were still pockets of other communities. How else would they make their dryad assistants if they hadn’t learned spells from old halfling druids? How would they have collected and withheld their gold had they not forced dwarves to mine it? High elves certainly don’t like sharing their island with others, but they still demand services from them.  
As Niamh explained to them, there were five prominent gods in Fallinel, so every town that met a certain population number would have those five churches built by the Court of Stars, with a representative of each other those gods visiting every once in a while to check up on that church and the state of their followers. Niamh was that person for the followers of Galicaea, but the Court of Stars had no system for those towns that did not meet the population requirement. In these places, the people would decide what to build for the worship of their gods. Niamh mentioned some that held a single temple to a god of agriculture, another had two connected churches for Sol and Helio.  
This town was different. As they approached, they saw mushrooms that fairies had moved into, gnomes and halflings emerging from cottages built into hills. Shacks, cabins, huts, and not a high elf in sight. There was no population count, no row of cookie-cutter churches for the prominent handful of deities. Instead, there was a hobble of a temple with dozens of small altars arranged in a spiral approaching the center, where a small, controlled fire was lit for offerings to any deity. Track watched the smoke make its way through the opening in the center of the cone roof, likely magical so that the smoke could get out but rain couldn’t get in.  
“Tracker?” Ragh gestured for the cleric to come over to a small square filled with blankets and pillows. A table held silver coins and seawater, tokens of Galicaea.  
“She has the same feral nature you talk about-” Ragh started  
“-But not her name or her connection to the moon,” Tracker finished. They waited for the family at the small table to leave the square of pillows to ask about how they came across this god.  
“We used to praise Galicaea but then our home started to rot and we prayed for Galicaea to help us, and these elves came through town and told us that Galicaea wouldn’t answer our prayers anymore because we celebrate the aspect she had abandoned. She gave part of her divine heart so a new goddess could take over the parts of her domain she could no longer attend to. Now they work separately, and our prayers may be answered once again.”  
“I don’t think Galicaea would abandon some of her duties,” Tracker assured.  
“Why else would Gallicaea be okay with her followers being polytheistic?”  
Even Ragh appeared to be caught off-guard with that statement. Tracker stammered, “Because- because she encourages the nature of curiosity and knows that people can praise many beings, faith is not divided but multiplied.”  
The woman placed a hand on Tracker’s shoulder and gave a look filled with sympathy. Pity, even. Tracker’s stomach turned.

\---

When they arrived in Thilsarine the next night, Niamh appeared almost out of nowhere, hair messy, eyes edging on wild. “What took you so long?” she asked, “Did you camp out in the woods halfway?”  
“We stopped in a little village, wanted to see how some of the smaller gods are doing.”  
“There wouldn’t have been anything for you there.”  
“Not about Galicaea, but we still wanted to see them.”  
“Are you okay?” Ragh asked.  
The elf blinked once, twice, three times. “Fine. Just worried about you. Strange things happen in the woods.” She fixed her hair and adjusted her cloak. “Care to join me for a drink?”  
Tracker couldn’t make sense of Niamh anymore, put together and falling apart and calm and frantic. “I’m down, but your plan- aren’t we speaking to the clergy tonight and then heading out early again tomorrow?”  
“I think we could use a chill night.”  
“Exactly. Just one drink, to celebrate our series of successful days.”The elf swiveled to face Ragh completely. “You mentioned Bloodrush the other night and it sounds very interesting, I meant to ask more about how it works.”  
Ragh’s face twisted, excited and confused all at once. “I kind of have to remind myself you’re not a high elf every time you take interest in what I say.”  
“I try not to make it too obvious,” she said, taking his arm as they walked off together.  
“Why not?” Tracker asked, pulling up the rear.  
“Well, I'm surrounded by high elves, I guess I want to blend in. I’m lucky to have the position I have in, I don’t know, representing the followers of Galicaea at the Court of Stars?  
“But weren’t a lot of her original followers wood elves?” Tracker pushed. If she could just get someone to talk about the forest of Sylvaire-  
“Well, that’s debatable and you have to take into account what h-” the girl stopped herself. “You have to take into account that the majority of her followers here are high elves, even though you have those small temples and people like my father.”  
That would’ve been too easy.

\---

“So I have an offer from my higher-ups," Niamh said, taking a sip of siren wine.  
“I thought this was just a drink, not a business proposition.”  
“What’d they say?”  
“The Court of Stars is willing to chip in for your travels. They’d book your stays, they’d have a schedule for you packed with people to meet and when to meet with them, horses to make the journey shorter. No more strange looks from innkeepers” Tracker hadn’t told them about the innkeepers, and must have shown this confusion on their face, as Niamh continued, “My dad isn’t the only one that’s good at reading people.”  
“What would they want from us?”  
“There’s no price, if that’s what you’re asking. No contract of silence or anything.” The elf raised the glass to her lips, taking a slow and drawn out sip. “I’m sure they would ask for slightly less hostility”  
“We’re being hostile?” they scoffed.  
“There’s another thing.”  
“I'm not going to accept the offer, it’s kind, but I have to trust myself.”  
“Of course, I’m not trying to push, this is-” Tracker tried to search her eyes as the elf found the words. “-different.” She set down her glass. “There’s going to be a solar eclipse in a few days, they’re inviting you both to come to the Lunar Festival. You’d have even more people to talk to about the various moon and change related deities, more to learn about traditions here.”  
“What is she talking about?” Ragh mouthed from over Niamh’s shoulder. Doubt flickered in Ragh’s eyes, Tracker had to make sure they didn’t reflect it.  
“How come we hadn’t heard about it before now?”  
“Of the festival? They held a festival during a lunar eclipse a few years ago for followers of Sol, Helio, other sun-adjacent deities.”  
“I mean, no, I didn’t hear of festivals in Fallinel, but I didn’t know there was an eclipse this soon.”  
“We were just as surprised. Neither our astronomers nor astrologists predicted it until just days ago.”  
The half-orc cleared his throat, and Niamh finally turned to look at him, too. “I know I don’t know a lot about Gallicaea or astronomy or whatever but I’m pretty sure the moon can’t just, like, just positions?”  
“I don’t know how it happened either, but we live with chronomancy and hundreds of other magical and nonmagical oddities.”  
“Where would it be?”  
“Stellemere, that’s where our tour was going to finish up anyway. We could head that way tomorrow if you want.”  
“Would we have to accept the first deal to be able to attend the festival?”  
“I don’t believe so, though the Court will be sad to hear you aren’t taking them up on their offer.”  
Ragh and Tracker looked at each other in agreement. They didn’t trust the Court, so they really didn’t care about sounding ungrateful for not taking an offer that could literally kill them in their sleep.  
“Well,” she continued, “I’d be happy to take you there.”

\---

Flames danced before the pair, the only light provided to their pocket of forest, the crackle of wood accompanying the song of crickets and frogs.  
“Was that weird to you?” Tracker asked, placing another log into their makeshift fire pit.  
“The offer?”  
“Yeah.”  
“I mean, we’re already getting a private tour of the Fallinel by the Court of Stars, which is weird, but I think it’s been cool to have Niamh showing us places, people seem to chill when she’s around.” The half-orc seemed quieter these days, Tracker wondered if they had anything to do with it. “The whole ‘stop being hostile’ thing threw me off, though.”  
Tracker worried their bottom lip with a fang. “I don’t think we can keep following Niamh,” they said.  
Ragh’s head tilted back, eyes to the stars. “I don’t think she knows anything.”  
The cleric shook their head. “She’s so close to the court, she’s known every priest of Galicaea we’ve met and probably will meet, she can’t be right there in the middle of all of it with all of them and still be oblivious.”  
“She seemed genuinely upset about her dad’s friends not wanting to tell her about their discoveries. Maybe she’s removed from it, maybe they avoid telling her these things.”  
“She pushes for answers, she’s persuasive, she’s smart, she can’t just not know.”  
The barbarian brought his eyes from the stars to his traveling companion, his face soft in the light of the fire. “You found out about this a few months ago,” he replied, voice even and calm, “Maybe that’s about to happen to her, maybe we need to be the ones to tell her. Why would she bring us to her dad and the temple in Red if she was hiding more from us?”  
“Getting us close to her family, making me trust her, making me believe this wasn’t for nothing.” Ragh closed his mouth and held their fiery gaze. Their hands were shaking, heart pounding in their ears, heard over the calming song nature tried to provide for them. They swallowed. “I’m going to set up the tent.”

\---

“I know I don’t know what’s happening with your goddess, and I don’t know how it feels to have faith in something like that only to have someone take pieces of it from you. But I have faith in you.”

\---

They ended up continuing with Niamh to Stellemere, they needed to go there anyway. Niamh taught them both an old elven song about the moon as they hiked and hiked.  
“I’m not traveling with you because of Calethriel Tower,” she said, unprompted, “I hope you know you’re not in trouble.”  
“We were saving a friend.”  
“Of course.”

\---

When they arrived in Stellemere, Niamh didn’t even offer to take them to a tavern. The three ate dinner together, but she left quietly after telling them they wouldn’t be able to meet with the local priestess until the day before the festival. They’d have two days of free time and she wouldn’t be able to join, but she recommended the eastern market. They said their goodnights and headed their separate ways. This time, Ragh was the one who suggested that he and Tracker did some of their own research.  
“There was an old house on our way here, it might not be anything, but-”  
“Lead the way, bro.”  
It was only a few minutes from their camping spot, they put out the fire and went on their way. Tracker had some doubts about a random old house in a meadow, but it was something to figure out on their own, which they really needed. As they approached, the cleric understood why Ragh took such an interest. Within that old house sat a tree.  
The branches extended outward, pushing shutters out of their way to do so. A seed must’ve taken place years ago, the slowly breaking building letting in just enough water to let it grow while at the same time providing protection from strong winds. Tracker ran to the house, Ragh following them inside. It was kind of a squeeze to get inside, but they managed.  
“This feels like her,” Tracker beamed, watching their companion light up as well.  
“Does it have divine energy?”  
“No, I don’t think it’s actually one of her places, she and her followers haven’t used it to celebrate the moon I don’t think, but if they did I think their words would echo through the night and reach her just as loudly.”  
“Have you guys seen the stones and books and stuff?” A voice asked from above. Both Tracker and Ragh startled, preparing for a threat, only to find a young boy hanging upside-down from the tree.  
“Holy fuck,” Ragh sighed, “didn’t know anyone was here.”  
The kid grinned. “I’m very good at being sneaky!”  
“What stones are you talking about, bud?”  
“There’s a clearing. It’s really hard to find but I’m really smart.”  
“Which way?” He pointed one way, realized he was upside-down, changed his position, and pointed the opposite way. “Promise we can split anything you find? Because I told you where to look?”  
“Deal!” Ragh agreed.

\---

“The boy said he found the ruins here.”  
“Could’ve gotten mixed. Or he just made it up to get us out of there. Kids make things up.”  
Tracker frowned. “But they also tell the truth.”  
Ragh stopped in his tracks. “Are you doing alright dude? I know this has been weighing on you.”  
“I want to find something, that’s all,” they said. They held onto a nearby tree and began to remove their shoes, and Ragh shrugged, removing his as well. Tracker glanced back and laughed, “No, bro, this is like a wilderness sensory thing. Wolf’s instinct or something I guess.” They let their toes sink into the ground, stretching down to feel the dirt in their hands as well. Eyes closed, they stretched back up, walking about the small clearing. Their feet never removed themselves from the ground, whether a heel stayed planted or toe simply traced lines through the loose sediment and grass. Ragh remembered Fabian, drawing half circles on the ground during some move with a fancy name he never really knew. As his mind wandered, Tracker’s eyes shot open. “Ragh?” He hummed. “There’s something here.”  
“Seriously?”  
“Yeah. Yeah, we just need to fu-”  
The ground beneath Tracker’s feet collapsed inward, and the cleric fell into the ground.  
Ragh raced over to the fresh hole in the ground. “You good homie?” he yelled.  
“HELL YEAH BRO! I'll need a self-heal but get down here check it out!”  
Stone walls twisted and turned, books pressed into the stone, ivy across it like it grew to hold the knowledge and written tradition close. Tracker ran their fingers along the wall as Ragh threw down their shoes and hopped down after them. “Sick.”  
“Right?” Tracker picked at the ivy, trying to see if they could get to the book it held without disrupting things. They cast a light spell on their dinky little carving of a pine tree, holding it in front of them as they walked the passages. “This is definitely an old- something.” They wandered off with the glowing tree, but Ragh could make his way around just fine. What orcs lacked in stealth, they made up for in strength and wicked darkvision.  
Ragh followed after, taking Tracker’s shoes with him.  
“Aw shit.”  
“What’s up, dude?” Tracker asked, making their way back over to him.  
“Nothin’, I think I just stepped in something.” He shook off his shoe. They probably didn’t keep out moisture as well as his sneakers did, because his next steps were just as wet. Ragh finally turned his attention to the floor to see a solid layer of water starting to cover the floor. As Tracker made their way over, they saw it too, the light of the tree outlining every ripple.  
“Weird. Maybe it floods during high tide or something, that’s why they abandoned it. Went for someplace higher above sea level.” The two continued poking about, Tracker tucking the book in their bag and pushing the stone walls about.  
“There’s something this way.” A loud creak broke through the hall as Ragh opened the door, vines and ivy only absorbing some of the echo.  
The door opened to a hall built in a completely different style than the rest of the ruins, a recent addition full of half-room-half-cages. Cells.  
Each cell had two sets of shackles chained to the wall, Tracker rubbed their wrist at the thought of it. When they asked Kristen to tie them up during full moons, they made sure to take precautions so that no one would end up hurt. Ragh reached out and touched one. He held it for a little bit before biting one of the chains. He tried to carefully set it down, but it ended up clattering still against the stone. He swallowed and shook his head for Tracker not to do the same. Silver. Part of them wanted to joke about biting metal and disrupting the silence with such an inelegant move, but something was blocking their throat. As they walked through the halls, they noticed that not all of the shackles were completely clean, like previous spells had missed something. Or maybe they just didn’t care, didn’t think anyone would see but them. Tracker could smell blood from miles away, but it kept getting stronger. It wasn’t just what was left on the chains, it was giving them a headache, making their heart pound against their ribcage.  
Ragh stopped in his tracks, blocking Tracker from entering the next cell. “I don’t know if you want to see this.”  
“I need to know what we’re dealing with,” they said, pushing past the half-orc.  
What sat before the pair was a boy. A werewolf. But he was a boy first, Tracker thought.  
Jawbone usually existed in a half-state between wolf and human, but that was as a political statement. This boy was sitting on the ground, his wrists and ankles shackled to the wall and floor, in a state between what Tracker recognized as their normal wolf form and their full moon wolf form. The line between a spiritual experience and not having any control over the emotions coursing through your veins and the rage and pain trying to explode out of you. He was incredibly thin, probably wasn’t able to eat while he was chained up, but he likely died of-  
“Exhaustion.” Ragh stepped around and turned to face them, but Tracker didn’t turn to reciprocate. “It’s exhausting to be in that form for so long, that’s why it’s only the full moon. You have the one night where the moon prompts us to slip into chaos and destruction, but that isn’t Galicaea possessing her followers consciously or with malice, it’s the night and then you rest and it’s okay and you have control back and you don’t-” Tracker swallowed. “It’s not like this. You never exist in this state for more than a few seconds. It’s a transition, you should never-”  
“His claws are bloody, maybe he hurt someone.”  
“Yeah, because there were two wolves, literally, battling it out in his head. He was probably freaking the fuck out.” Tracker reached out and compared their hand to his half-formed paw. “He’s smaller than I would be,” they whispered, words stuck halfway to open air, “He’s just a kid.” Their eyes refused to settle anywhere, flicking rapidly between the boy’s wild eyes and his claws and his paw in their hand and the many gashes that covered his body and the fur around his ankles and wrists that was matted with blood and the tension of his shoulders, even now. They met his eyes one last time. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” Ragh rubbed their back and held their hair out of their face, it had been getting pretty long. Even hunched over and ill, Tracker’s mind wouldn’t stop. Would they have to clean this up, would the elves come down here and see it and hunt for the person who found what they had done? Would they visit this place again? Would they even bother to take care of this boy’s body? Did they care if anyone knew?  
They sounded like Kristen. But instead of questioning gods, it was the worshippers of those gods.  
Tracker wiped their mouth and sniffled. “They did something to him, that’s not normal, that’s not how this works, it’s not sustainable, they must have done something to him.”  
Ragh stopped rubbing their back, but continued his contact with Tracker, hand on their shoulder. Tracker needed it more than they could say.  
“Do you think his parents are looking for him?” Ragh asked, quiet once more.  
Something caught in Tracker’s throat once again. “Do they even know he’s here? Do they even know he’s a werewolf, would they want to see him like this? Would they, do they, would they, do they?”  
“Hey.” Ragh tried to lead the two of them through a series of breathing exercises, but Tracker kept shaking their head. They collapsed into Ragh’s arms. “We’re gonna beat the hell out of them.”  
“We can’t just kill a hundred high elves.”  
“We can. If you want.” Ragh jaw locked as he stared at the wall. “They’re not teenagers wanting to be prom court, they’re fucking adults. They’re hurting kids, they’re killing people and it’s not just like the regular amount of people that churches usually kill.  
“The regular amount is zero.”  
“It should be.” Ragh watched as water started to make its way to the cells. “We might need to head out soon, I don’t know how much water is coming, I don’t want us to get stuck down here.”  
“I want to check the rest of the rooms.”  
“Okay.”  
By the time the water was up to their waists, well, Tracker’s waist and Ragh’s lower thigh, Ragh had discovered two more books and Tracker found a series of bottles filled with a brown sludge that changed its viscosity as it moved, along with devices they assumed were used to administer it. They probably had more time to search, but the water near where they were looking started swirling with light red, and Ragh knew Tracker just needed to get out.

\---

“Tracker,” Ragh said, “do not put that shit in your body. You don’t know what it does. I’m not a healer.”  
“You’ve got the kit, you’ve got the potions.”  
“That’s not the same and you know that.”  
“Ragh.” The barbarian crumbled under their gaze.  
“Tell me how it works,” he said.  
“The dark blue one clings to the other stuff and neutralizes it, stops it in its tracks.” They exhaled, “That’s just a precautionary measure, because it should stop when you knock me out.”  
“Right.”  
“Right.” Tracker twirled their wrist, the liquid spinning around the bottle, foaming and bubbling the faster it went. As it slowed, it seemed to turn to sludge again. They swallowed nothing, throat dry.  
“What’s up?”  
“Well. I feel like they probably put a very small dose into people, and this is- it’s definitely not a small dose.”  
Ragh’s eyes remained on the liquid, around and around. “You don’t have to do it.”  
“No, but I want to know what they felt. Was it like a pin prick and then rage or did they fall asleep and wake up in a werewolf state they couldn’t escape?” They watched as it turned almost solid in the bottle, still and dense. “I need to know. Because otherwise this is just weird stuff we found and there’s no connection to the Court of Stars and the church of Gallicaea and that- that fucking prison cell. And then I’m just making shit up to explain why I can’t talk to my fucking god.”  
“You don’t have to prove anything to those fuckers.” He held up the blue bottle. “We can do this another night. Or we don’t have to do it at all.”  
“If we put it off now I’m going to keep putting it off. I’m going to be fine.”  
“Yeah. You’re gonna be fine. I mean, you’re gonna have to fight me so maybe not.”  
“Yeah, that’s what I’ll need the healing for.  
“So if we do this, we’ll do what we have to do. I’m gonna focus really hard on keeping you safe and I'm gonna write down shit to keep record of it and then tomorrow we’re going to chill and I’m gonna make you some food.”  
“We can’t do that.”  
“Yeah, we can, homie. You’re gonna collapse if you don’t let yourself chill sometimes. I know you feel like you’re not doing enough but this is so fuckin much.”  
“It should just take a sip of the blue one.”  
“I know.”  
They spun the bottle a few times and took a small sip.  
And it was lights out for Tracker.

\---

Tracker usually had some idea as to what they did in wolf form, remembering certain events without ever deciding to do it, watching something else control you, amplify every one of your emotions, waking up with all of the guilt and none of the ability to explain.  
Excuses, excuses.  
But during that first second, you don’t even get to know. It’s like blacking out- the second you start to fall and realize when it's too late to save yourself. But if you never leave that state of black out-  
You’re just in the dark and there’s a pit in your stomach.  
And there’s nothing you can do.

\---

Tracker awoke with a headache, a back they couldn’t move, and a tongue so dry it was impossible to rest comfortably in their mouth.  
Ragh sat with his back to them, hunched over, rocking back and forth ever so slightly. It would almost be unnoticeable if he wasn’t so close. Tracker craned their neck in the slightest and saw the bottle previously containing the blue potion was now empty, laying on its side next to the bottle of solid sludge.  
“It should’ve only taken a little bit of the potion,” Tracker croaked, immediately falling into a fit of coughing.  
“Fuck, you’re up.” Ragh turned quickly and brought a cup of water to Tracker’s lips, pushing a rolled-up shirt underneath their head to prop them up just a little more. “We spilled a little on the ground, but it took half of that just to get you to stop thrashing. I used the rest to get your eyes back to normal, and then you finally conked.”  
Tracker stared at the sky for a while, holding Ragh’s hand to stay on this plane. “So it’s them?”  
“Yeah.”  
“I don’t get it”  
“They’re trying to control how they all see your goddess, but they also need to keep their public image.”  
“But it's more than that. Why do some die and others just get calmly reconnected to another deity that doesn’t actually exist? How do they know which people they can convince to view Galicaea the way they do and who to just push off onto another god?”  
“I don’t think they do,” the half-orc responded, squeezing his friend’s hand, “I think they decided who they thought would be worth it to have under their finger. Risk analysis, like fucking business majors.”  
“Do you think we can do anything about it?”  
“That’s what we’re here for, homie.”

\---

One more church and then the festival, where they could tell everyone what was happening, what their leaders were doing. They both pretended to have a good feeling about this one, but it didn’t really matter anymore, did it?  
When Niamh greeted them, she asked that Ragh stayed behind. Ragh flashed Tracker a look, maybe this time they were really going to need a bodyguard, but Tracker told him it would be good to stay behind, give him a chance to meet people instead of needing to be tied down by church stuff. Ragh hesitated, watching as his friend jogged to keep up with the elf.  
After he packed up the tent, he headed back to where they had found the ruins only to see that the clearing had been lined with glowing silver pennants and real fairy lights. A stage had been built practically on top of the ruins, the edge of the thick platform placed on top of the hole Tracker had fallen through. The banner above the stage announced the meaning of these decorations: “LUNAR FESTIVAL”. It was probably the most unapologetically garish thing Ragh had seen during all of his time in Fallinel, like the single Helioic Rock concert Ragh attended when he was around Coach Daybreak more often. 

\---

Meanwhile, Tracker entered their last Galicaean church in Fallinel, greeted at the door by the priestess who barely looked at her. It was almost comforting, the woman wasn’t trying to hide her distaste like the others did. She gestured for her guests to follow as she walked back to her office, steps so fluid she could’ve been floating and simply covered by her robes. Once in her office, the woman returned to a book that had been left open, the two clerics left standing there, silent.  
Tracker cleared their throat. “Thank you for welcoming me into-”  
“You smell of wet dog and a lack of self-respect,” the priestess interrupted, finally looking up from her book.  
“Excuse me?”  
“I can’t believe they would even ask me to host you. Filthy werewolf. It’s no wonder we aren’t taken seriously anymore. Our goddess has been degraded by the likes of you.”  
Tracker couldn’t find the words, but Niamh spoke, “Liolarei, stop this.”  
“You would want the goddess to be so uncivilized? So chaotic? So primal?” The woman, refined as she was, looked as though she was about to be sick.  
“This has nothing to do with want. This is her nature. You wouldn’t call the pull of the tides uniform, the phases of the moon exact or neat.”  
She wrinkled her nose.“The Court asked for both of them, get them out of here immediately.”  
Two figures emerged from behind the door and clamped their hands over both their mouths. Tracker had been so careless, so presumptuous, they didn’t even bother to check the church as they entered. No detecting good, or evil, or any of it.

\---

The clerics were knocked out and silenced before they were deposited in those same cells Tracker and Ragh found that boy in just days before. There was an alternate entrance, one that went straight to the cells, they didn’t have to drop down into darkness and feel their way along the ivy-covered walls.  
Tracker awoke in a panic, looking for their friend. Instead, they found the wood elf. Thoughts and memories came flooding back, pressure rising, lungs still. “Did you know?”  
Niamh refused to move her eyes to look up at them. A tear fell to the ground, hitting the stone below. And then there was nothing but utter silence.  
They could’ve turned into a wolf right then, but remembered the boy’s wrists, cut in the silver restraints. Instead of turning, they screamed. “Why? Why am I down here?” they demanded, “Why did you do all of that for me just for them to get me here?” They pulled at the cuffs, getting themself as close to Niamh as they could. “You could've thrown me down here as soon as I got to Fallinel. You knew who I was, all of you. Knew what happened in Sylvaire. Why didn’t you just kill me?”  
“I didn’t know,” she responded.  
“Didn’t know that they hated me?”  
“They just told me to show you around, tell you what they wanted you to know, get you out of their hair. Maybe you’d stop if you got to see everyone’s stories line up.”  
“But they didn’t.”  
“Because I took you to Red.”  
Tracker’s arms shook, chains rattling.“Because the stories don’t line up. As well-rehearsed as you guys are, you couldn’t prepare an entire alternate reality.” Tracker sat back, loosening the tension of the chains. “So why not just kill me? Let the questions die with me?”  
“You’re not the only one asking questions, Tracker, you’re not the leader of the movement. You’re not as important as you think you are.”  
“I never said I was important.” Their throat burned. “I just want to know why I’m here.”  
“You’re their show,” Niamh croaked, eyes dead.  
“What are you talking about?”  
“They’re-”  
“Niamh, what the hell does that mean?”  
“You’re going to be their example.”  
“They’re gonna kill me? And they’re finally gonna be ballsy about it? In front of all those people?”  
“You’re going to show them all what a danger you are to the faith of Galicaea. How vicious and deadly and persistent you all are.”  
“And you’re saying I’m not important?” They laughed, dripping with sarcasm.  
“Because you’re not. You’re just easy to explain. Your death would be justified to them.”  
“And what about you?”  
“They’ll probably just kill me here, it's easy enough.”  
“No. Would my death be justified to you?”  
“I didn’t know about this place, I didn’t know they were killing them, I thought they were exposing the underlying dangers of lycanthropy, I’m so stupid, I didn’t- I just knew they were trying to keep the followers of Galicaea together, and they were trying to shift the faith of some others but I-” The elf kept crying, stumbling over her words.  
“Niamh,” Tracker said. “Would my death be justified?”  
She shook her head, chains pulled taut as she attempted to dry her eyes. “None of them ever were.”

\---

No one in the area had seen or heard from Niamh or Tracker since the morning, Ragh found that the church they had visited that morning was empty.  
Ragh searched and scanned and retraced and nothing. No one could have accessed the ruins, the entrance was covered, no one was in the house with the tree, not the markets, nowhere.  
“One fucking job,” the barbarian cried.

\---

Two officials from the Court of Stars arrived the next day, looking like the Abernants when they came to Leviathan, hoods up, hadn’t seen the sun in weeks. One cast something that should’ve forced them to pass out again, but something prevented it from sticking. Tracker didn’t know how, all of their spells failed in that cell, and it wasn't like their constitution was doing great at the moment. They pretended to go unconscious anyway, slumping in the grasp of the elves. They heard the festival grow louder as they climbed the steps to the surface.

\---

Ragh ended up finding Kieran and decided to stay with him for the festival. Tracker would be there, or at least Niamh would be.  
“And now,” the announcer sang, “a presentation on the dangers of werewolves.”

\---

“And now,” they heard, just as the light hit their eyelids. They heard one of the elves fumbling with a small device as someone continued, “a presentation on the dangers of werewolves.”  
The cleric ripped out of the hold of the two elves and cast Antimagic Field for the first time in their life, remembering the pylons and the lack of attention paid to nonmagical weapons. They cast Command on the man standing on the platform and braced themself as it rose in the air.  
Tracker saw Andromeda in the treeline, saw Clover, and the priestess from their second day in Fallinel, all of them, they had to believe it meant something, that any of this meant something.  
“Followers of Galicaea and adjacent minor gods,” Tracker called out, “I need you to know that your faith has been, and continues to be manipulated.” In the background, they heard Ragh fending off officials from the Court of Stars, people trying to reach Tracker, swords likely coated in that awful sludge. Screams erupted from every direction. “The ground below you is sturdy, but just under that dirt is a horrible place where your priests and clergymen and respected authority figures have been leaving werewolves to die. We know how they do it. They’ve developed a chemical that tricks the body into thinking it's a full moon. But not exactly, it tricks the body into thinking it is the first second of a full moon, exactly when werewolves begin to change. And they stay in that second until they can find a way to stop it.” More screams now, liar, heretic, killer. “So hoping that the person who did it to them has the cure, they nudge them. When nudging doesn’t work, they grow agitated and start to attack just looking for answers. And when they don’t get answers, they go crazy. They’re looking for a full moon that isn’t there, trying to figure out what happened, who did this, how? They do this to rid the world of those who will never abandon Galicaea, they pick them off themselves so they cannot contaminate their goddess. No werewolves, no werewolf followers, no werewolf goddess. It’s not their goddess. They cannot convince you to change your faith because they do not think she should worry herself with you, they cannot tell us what version of her we must subscribe to.” Niamh had gotten out, and began working with Ragh to protect the cleric. “We are tearing our own deity apart,” the werewolf yelled, echoing through the clearing, “I’m listening to you, I’m trying to see what you’ve learned. We’ve learned such different things, we don’t know what’s right. I see werewolves as wolves who worshipped the moon so much they were allowed to walk among people, as long as they indulge themselves in the light of the moon and howled the praises of the full moon. You see me cursed to degrade into a lesser being when she commands, a dangerous show.” Ragh and Niamh were wearing down, people were running away, why couldn’t they just look at them. “I worried about what control Galicaea herself had if gods are defined by their followers, if they are only the figureheads for our decisions, but it’s not a one-way street. She influences the world we live in, she influences us, and we influence her in return. She cannot help us all when we are so divided. But I and other werewolves are not the reason she struggles to serve you in return. We contribute to her power as much as you do.” They saw that sludge, that awful sludge, someone had it, hell, multiple people probably had it at the ready, they couldn’t tell what angle they needed to anticipate. “I’m not erasing your goddess,” they cried, “I am just trying to reach out to her and understand.”  
Ragh howled out for Tracker to look out, one of those high elves finally got a nonmagical weapon, but there was no time to react. The knife spun toward them, finally catching them in the shoulder.  
A lump formed in Tracker’s throat, this was different than before, why was it different? It was the opposite of last time, lights overwhelming instead of going out completely. It hurt like hell, like they were being ripped apart, and suddenly-  
Suddenly they saw Galicaea.  
And they didn’t see Galicaea as Kristen described her all those weeks ago. She had the eyes of Kieran, the long flowing braid she was always drawn wearing, her blue dress now flecked with silver, canines sharp and ever-present.  
“An eclipse isn’t really a full moon, almost the opposite if you think about it, but it's one of the few times you see the exact outline of it in the sky. So you wonder, is it a full moon? Can you be in your human form, your wolf form, and your mid-transformation form all at once? Too many factors, it was easier to knock you out.” Tracker could’ve sworn the goddess winked, possibly one of the strangest parts of the vision. “It’s hard to hide something when you’re not sure of which part you should be hiding,” she sighed, and now Tracker was in a hospital bed like they were all those years ago, scared and lost and wanting to understand and be held. “I don’t want my people to fight over which side of me should be hated.” Tracker couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, just listen to the beeps of the heart rate monitor and Galicaea’s voice. “It’s much easier to hate all of it.”  
“I don’t know. And I don’t like not knowing, not like- not like Cassandra. I was never comfortable with it. You’re finding me, right?” Tracker tried to nod, but still, nothing. “Those pieces I couldn’t remember, the pieces that got pressed and flattened and pushed aside. I am only as strong as you all.” The goddess scanned up and down Tracker’s frame. “I hope they listen to you.”


End file.
